


a leopard can't change its spots

by XVettes (JordStarrr)



Category: Rugby Union RPF
Genre: M/M, Post-Match, post-match filth is what it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 12:46:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8891281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JordStarrr/pseuds/XVettes
Summary: Some pretty shameless fluff following the first Leicester-Bath game after Ford moved teams.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the anon who requested it, I hope you enjoy this.  
> This feels like speaking to an old version of myself because I'm so, so not the person who wrote this any more but I hope it's alright all the same.

Niall grins, arching his back as George trails a hand slowly down his bare torso, lingering over each bruise and gasping as George's fingertips graze his erection; so at ease with all of this now, so confident in his own desires. The contrast between this and the way he looked their first few times together is so marked as to make George smile at the memory; the bright, bright flush which coloured his cheeks and spread to his neck as his arousal grew, the gentle thud of the pulse at his wrist as George slid his tongue over the veins, the quiet murmurs that had seemed like music to his ears, suddenly shyer than George had ever seen him.  
And now he's here, lying back, allowing himself to be worshipped, with a smile so wide George half-wonders if he'll hurt his face like that, and not a single worry in the world.

"You're sure?" he asks again, for what feels like the fifteenth time already, as his hand stills, resting over Niall's right hip. The right one is his favourite; it bruises more often, but it isn't just that; the curve feels sharper, feels _right_ underneath his palm, like they were made to fit together. He misses it when they're apart.Niall laughs, low and easy, and reaches for George's wrist, tracing tiny circles over the veins with his thumb. "Yes, Georgie. I'm sure." He lifts his head until their eyes meet, pupils wide in the near-blackness. "I want you to. Trust me." "I  _do_ trust you," George mumbles, hanging his head. His pulse sounds in his ears, the heavy, beating rhythm almost distracting him from the sensation of Niall's skin against his. These nerves are different; not like the pre-match ones, the ones that make his knees feel weak and his stomach churn; no, these make him feel like his heart will burst out of his chest if he isn't careful, like everything he cares about might evaporate under his fingertips. This is ten times scarier than any game day. "Georgie," Niall repeats softly, calmly. "I'm absolutely sure. I'm ready, you're  _clearly_ ready, so..." George half-smiles as Niall's grip on his wrist loosens. He allows himself to be pulled in, kissed, touched, savours the sensation of rough, stubbled skin against his own clean-shaven cheek, of soft lips on his, of battle-hardened hands mapping out old, familiar paths over his flesh, and curls his slight hand around the back of Niall's neck, pulling him closer. "God, I missed you," he whispers, tilting their foreheads together, pulling back lest he get swept up in the urge to kiss Niall until the sun came up. "I know, sweetheart." Niall grins, his breath heavy, chest rising and falling sharply against George's. "I missed you too." Then, kissing a soft line along George's jaw, he murmurs, "I need you. Please." "You get so sappy when you're pissed," George grumbles to hide his smile as he fumbles through the tangle of sheets to find the bottle. Niall's never said "I need you," like that. Not like that, as a way of cementing that George is in control. Hearing it sends a shiver down his spine."I am not pissed! I am nicely merry, thank you very much," giggles Niall, shifting himself lower in the bed. George hears his words as if through a glass pane, focusing on the task at hand. His hands are clammy; the lube isn't helping. Maybe a second pint would have been a good idea after all; Dutch courage.

 

"Hey," Niall hushes, reaching for one of George's shaking hands, wrapping his long, lean fingers around George's shorter ones. "Don't be so scared. It's just me, y'know." With a silly little smile creasing the corners of his eyes, he draws an uneven heart shape with one fingertip over the place where George's heart sits. "No need to be scared of me, little Georgie."

 

"I'm scared of hurting you." 

 

"I'll tell you if you're hurtin' me, don't worry." 

 

With a slow nod, George frees his hand, using it to steady himself, kneeling between Niall's parted thighs, coarse hair tickling his legs. He rests that hand on Niall's stomach, ready to feel for any signs of tension in the muscles underneath, but Niall reaches for it again, linking their fingers together on the sheets in a show of trust that makes George think he'd go back to Leicester with him in a heartbeat. 

 

"I'll tell you," he repeats gently. "Trust me." 

 

"I trust you," George whispers, his heart thumping so fast he worries it might break out of his ribs. "I love you." With that, he begins to ease himself in, watching Niall's face intently for any sign of discomfort. Niall's fingers tighten in his, his other hand fisting the sheets next to him, and his head is thrown back, a frown line nestling between his brows. George rests his other hand on Niall's belly, remembering the comfort that simple touch gives him on the occasions their roles are reversed. "Are you okay?"

 

"Just - give me - just a second." Niall's eyes flash open, dark and hazy and full of affection. He manages a crooked smile. "Okay," he states bravely. "Give it a try. I think I'm okay." 

 

"I'll be careful," promises George, inching his hips back slowly, too nervous to really register the sensations, closing his eyes because he can't meet Niall's, the depth of feeling evident in them more than he can bear. Niall strokes the back of his hand gently with his thumb; George smiles. Still trying to comfort him even now, even when he isn't the one in charge. He feels his hips being pulled back towards Niall's, as though some invisible thread joins the two of them, controlling the movement, listening to Niall's hushed gasps and strained breathing. He isn't sure how he expected it to feel, but this is - this is - 

 

"Fuck," he whispers, looking up at Niall through dark lashes, incapable of articulating everything he can  _feel_. The growing warmth, gathering in his belly and spreading throughout his body, the pulse sounding wildly in his ears, the tight, squeezing grip of Niall's fingers in his, the love he feels for Niall like flames in his chest. 

 

"Wait - don't - hang on," Niall answers, tilting his hips up towards George's, his back arching. "I need a minute. Need to get used to it." 

 

George reaches up to cup Niall's face with his free hand, stroking his thumb over the high cheekbone. "I'm sorry. Does it hurt much?" 

 

Niall shakes his head, eyes tightly closed. "I'm fine. Just need a minute, that's all. " He releases his grasp on the sheets, forcing his muscles to relax, his breathing to slow. "Don't be sorry, Georgie," he whispers, wrapping his hand around George's bicep, fingertips pressing into the flesh. "I want this." 

He opens his eyes, smiling broadly; that smile that stops George's heart. "Go on. I'm okay. Really." 

 

Resting his hand low over Niall's belly, stroking a meaningless pattern of circles over the soft skin which tenses under his touch, George pulls his hips back and forth, watching every flicker of Niall's expression, finding his own grip tightening around Niall's fingers. Niall says nothing; he simply smiles, arching his back, letting his hips be drawn to George's in a careful rhythm, the two of them rocking together with surprising ease; but then, George remembers feeling that way the first time Niall ever fucked him. Like they'd been doing it all their lives. 

 

He grabs for Niall's hand and places it over his cock, and at his questioning glance explains, "It makes it better. Trust me." He grins, enjoying the way Niall's long fingers wrap around his erection and begin to stroke slowly, in time with each roll of George's hips. 

 

"Fuck," he hisses, releasing George's hand to curl his other around George's hip, urging him for more. "You were right." His head lifts from the pillow to stare into George's eyes, a soft laugh tumbling from his lips. George finds himself giggling too, wishing he could lean forward and kiss Niall properly but he's only just getting the hang of this and he can't bring himself to break the spell. Later, he promises himself. He pushes just a little harder, watching as Niall cries out and throws his head back into the pillow, his own rhythm increasing along with the flush in his cheeks, utterly lost now. George is lost too, hypnotised by Niall's shallow cries and the tightening grip of his fist and the low-down heat in his belly, telling him it's almost over. 

 

"Niall," he tries to say, his words half-swallowed by his heavy, gasping breaths. "I can't - can't - much longer,  _fuck -_ I can't - " 

 

Niall laughs, a muted groan tangling in his throat. "Me neither... Oh, god - just a bit, a bit harder, please... "

 

"Oh god," George growls, his head hanging. "Don't say that - I'll - " 

 

But he's cut off by Niall arching up, his hand stilling as he comes, so hard he can't make a single sound, his jaw hanging open, and George wants to watch, wants to see the smile creep over his face the way it always does, but he can't, he can't because his eyes have slammed shut as he follows Niall over the edge, reaching blindly for his hand, his knees shaking under him as all the tension flows hurriedly out of his body. He slumps forwards onto his elbows, resting his forehead against Niall's stomach, becoming aware of a hot, wet patch against his chest and familiar hands in his hair, teasing circles at the base of his scalp. He can't think. The sound of Niall's quick fire heartbeat is strangely soothing, his chest heaving against George's, quiet sighs escaping his lips that make George smile. 

 

He gathers the energy to sit up, easing himself away and onto the sheets, next to Niall, who turns his head lazily to look at him. 

 

"Made a mess of you, haven't I?" he jokes, a quiet smile at his lips. "Let me clean you up, Georgie..." He closes his eyes for a long moment, one hand resting on his stomach, quietly content, too tired to move. 

 

"Was - was that okay?" George asks hesitantly, resting his head on one arm and reaching out to toy with Niall's hair. "You let this get long," he whispers thoughtfully, trying to wind his fingers through it. 

 

"Was that okay?" Niall half-laughs. "Fuck, Georgie... It hasn't been like that since you left. Not once." He smiles as George pulls lightly at his hair. "It was more than okay. Really."

 

"You can talk," he continues, as George bends to kiss his forehead. "You look older like that. You should have seen yourself, bossing everyone around... I could hardly take my eyes off you." 

 

"You're not joking. I've got bruises from that, you know."

 

"Aww, baby, I'm sorry..." Niall giggles, pouting and fluttering his eyelashes. "I didn't see it was you until it was too late. I didn't want anyone to think I was going easy on you, you know."

 

"I don't think there's any danger of *that* now..." George smiles, any irritation he might have felt earlier in the day leaving him abruptly. "It's okay. I forgive you." 

 

"I am sorry. I'll make it all better..." he trails off, yawning loudly. "In a bit."

 

George giggles. "Maybe we could do with a kip... We do have all night." 

 

"You don't have to tell me, Georgie."


End file.
